My trunk sits against the wall under the window. After Ma died and the Murphys claimed our cabin on the commons, I lived out of that trunk. Now I keep my jars and other supplies in it.
Everything feels different after the past few days, but it isn’t, really. I’m still a lone female. Bottom of the pack. And that’s good. I can do what I want. Make my own way. Nothing needs to change.
Annie is going to do the run into town tomorrow, but honestly, I bet I could get away with going myself. Despite the present weirdness, I can’t imagine anyone would come looking for me during the day. Literally no male ever has.
I really want this deal to work out. Crafts and such are a great side hustle, but mushrooms could be a real business. Everyone sells honey these days, but morels—they don’t grow on trees.
I smirk at my own joke.
My brain’s whirring. I fluff my pillow and turn on my good side so I face the window. The curtain is slightly parted, and I can see the moon. It’s high tonight. Waxing gibbous.
Why is the moon sometimes high and sometimes large and close? I’d search it on my phone, but I’m stingy with my data at the end of the month. I need it for work.
If I use the mushroom money to get us unlimited plans, I could search whatever I want whenever I want. Moon facts. New herbs to grow.
I could watch videos of the shifter fights.
Killian was brutal tonight. He took every bit of punishment Lochlan dished out as he waited for an opening. His face was totally intent. His eyes were pure blue. No gold. His wolf had nothing to do with it.
When he kicked, the control in his body, the force and fluidity—I shudder. He’s a powerful guy. He always has been. I’ve never had the urge to watch him fight before.
But I want to watch him do it again.
So does my wolf—she whines in agreement. I want to watch. I want the slow motion replay, to watch frame by frame, see Killian’s head snap back as Lochlan drives a fist into his jaw.
Not just ‘cause I want to see Lochlan eat the floor again. Or Killian take a few punches in the face.
I also want to watch the bunching of muscles as Killian spun and kicked Lochlan’s leg out from under him, how he smoothly returned to standing, bouncing ever so slightly on the balls of his feet, no victory or even exertion in his expression, only cold intent.
A shiver slides down my spine, curling into my belly.
I don’t like Killian but that doesn’t mean I can’t admire parts of him. I wish I was strong enough to kick Lochlan’s ass.
And it’s not like Killian did that for me. He’s the alpha. Lochlan broke his rule about females and young. Killian was making an example of him. It wasn’t about me—no matter what my wolf thinks.
She’s oddly reserved considering her earlier excitement. I thought she’d be urging me to shift and go hump his leg.
She was excited enough when he was doling out the beatdown. And there was a moment—when he delivered the first kick to Lochlan’s leg, and I figured out what he was doing. I got excited, too. Not sexually. But there were tingles. I know he didn’t do it for me, but that hopelessly na?ve part of me that’s never grown up could pretend, for a second, that he’s our champion. Ours. And nobody better fuck with us.
Now I’m the silly one because the idea stirs something between my legs. What would it hurt if I let myself daydream a little? Only until I drift off to sleep.
Killian shifting in a rage when another male dares to touch what’s his.
Killian breaking a male who made the mistake of messing with me.
Another chair on the dais for me, a place of my own. He glances down. I nod. And then he destroys my enemies. Fangs and claws. Muscles and fists.
It’s a seductive fantasy. Dangerous and impossible. The stirring grows and spreads, though, growing wings, fluttering and swooshing below my navel. The stiff cotton of my nightgown teases my hardening nipples. My hand slips between my legs.
I’m restless. I part my thighs. I’m wet. I slip my fingers between my folds and find the stiff, aching nub.
I picture Killian’s wolf bowling into Gael, murder and possession blazing in his golden eyes.
There’s a howl from the porch right outside my window. My heart leaps into my throat.
I snatch my hand back and snap my knees together.
It’s him. Even without peeking through the curtain, I know.
The window’s cracked. Oh, Fate. There’s no way he can’t smell my arousal. It’s thick in the air.
Killian’s wolf howls again.
Come outside.
I scramble for resolve. My wolf is gonna bolt. She’s awake and on edge, and he’s so close, and she’s—I’m—so off center. So needy.
There’s a scuffling at the window. He’s wedging his snout into the opening. Thank goodness the wood is old and swollen. The sash is not gonna budge.
He growls in frustration, and then backs off to howl again.
Let me in.
I tense my muscles, prepare to fight my wolf for our skin.
But she doesn’t make a move. She plops herself down, and puts her snoot in the air. She’s ignoring him.
More howls, so loud they shake the window pane.
Come out. Come out. Come out.
My wolf lets forth a series of yips and snarls.
Go. Go to the other female. Go on. Go.
Then, she daintily crosses her paws, rests her chin on them, and dramatically closes her eyes.
No way. She’s pissed that he let Haisley rub up on him. I guess the rush of his dominance show has worn off, and she’s remembered that she has beef.
His wolf is quiet for a few moments, but then he howls again, louder, blustering and bombastic. I don’t need my wolf to understand him. He sounds like any male called on the carpet by his female—it wasn’t his fault the other female came onto him. My wolf’s being too sensitive. Making a mountain out of a molehill. He’s sorry, but he didn’t do anything wrong, and my wolf’s being a real bitch, but he won’t do it again.
Since she’s so mad.
Over nothing.
She has no more time for him. She snuffs and lets herself fade in my consciousness.
He howls like he’s been done all kinds of wrong.
I’m jumpy—he’s a monster, and he’s losing it on my porch, and I can’t forget what he interrupted—but I’m not scared. Because my wolf’s not scared. She’s put his wolf in time out. And I’m a million miles away from cracking a smile, but—it’s funny.
After a few more minutes of Killian’s wolf howling at the moon, I creep over and shut the window. He keeps on going, but it’s somewhat muffled.
I return to bed, tug the sheet up to my chin, and wait for him to give up. My “phases of the moon” clock ticks on the wall. After a while, Mari and Annie come knocking on my door.
Mari pokes her curly blonde head in, squinting toward the window. The moon reflects off Killian’s silver coat. He paces the porch, and his howls have become more plaintive. Almost grumbly.
“How long is he going to do this?” she whispers.
“I don’t know,” I whisper back.
“Should we let him in?”
“No!” Kennedy shouts from the other room. “Or at least gimme a minute!”
“She’s hiding her consoles,” Annie explains, squeezing past Mari to come sit on the edge of my bed. I scoot over.